bridger
01-09-2009, 01:48 PM
With all the serious discussions going on maybe it is time in inject a little humour. This is a true story about our first sheep hunt many years ago.
MOUNTAINS, SHEEP & HORSES
“What are we ever going to do with all this stuff?” I asked my two partners Jon and Gib. “All this stuff” was a mound of pack saddles, blankets, pack boxes; diamond ropes, tents, all in a big pile in my backyard. “How are we ever going to tie all this stuff on the horses?” I asked as my mind replacing the optimism of youth with a touch of reality “Can’t be that hard,” Gib answered back. “We’ll figger it out when we get there.” “There” was Summit Lake Mile 392 on the Alaska Highway and we were going on our first sheep hunt. We were headed for Stone Mt. “But we don’t know anything about packing horses; shouldn’t we have someone show us how?” I asked apprehensively. “Can’t be that much to it”, Gib said which meant it didn’t matter, we were going anyway..
. Our pack string would consist of five horses, three for riding and two for packing. A week before take off we were a horse short.
Gib solved that dilemma by buying a big rawboned sorrel named Kimberley just a few days before we were to leave. The fact that none of us had , any idea how to pack a horse seemed immaterial. We were young, tough, and enthusiastic and we were going sheep hunting!
http://www.huntingbc.ca/photos/data/500/medium/old_hunting_pics0002.jpg (http://www.huntingbc.ca/photos/showphoto.php?photo=12334&size=big&cat=recent&limit=recent)
Our introduction to Kimberly should have been a warning, but when you’re young and inexperienced it’s easy to miss the trail. “Come over and have a look at the horse I just bought,” Gib said over the phone.
An hour later Jon and I pulled into Gib’s driveway and I could see a sorrel horse in the back of Gib’s old two-ton. “Now that’s funny,” I said to Jon, “I wonder why Gib still has that horse in the truck?”
Gib explained. “I couldn’t get him out of the truck last night but if you boys help me, I’m sure we can get him out.”
“Didn’t you say this @@@##### was broke?” I yelled at Gib, the lump on my shin from a back hoof making me less than happy. “I said ‘Green broke’,” Gib replied. “What does that mean?” I demanded. “I guess a guy named Green broke him, I don’t know,” Gib said somewhat heatedly, still pulling on the lead rope.
“He’s been in the truck for five days now,” Jon said as we pulled into the Summit Lake parking lot days later. “He must be ready to come out by now”. We’ll pack Kimberly last,” Gib said, “That way we’ll have old Bullet packed and our horses saddled. Then we can pack Kimberly and head right out and not give him a chance to think about things.”
Saddling the horses turned out to be fairly straight forward. Putting the pack on old Bullet was more challenging. ‘Figgerin’ it out’ wasn’t quite as easy as we had thought it would be. We had no idea how to tie a basket hitch to hold the pack boxes; even less of an idea how to tie it all together with a diamond hitch. No matter! We attacked the problem with vigor and enthusiasm
‘Old Bullet’ was not only old and patient, but gentle as well. For two hours he stood there quietly as we tried various combinations of knots and hitches in frustrated attempts to keep the boxes and top pack tied onto the saddle. Finally we hit on a combination that looked like it would work and the pack miraculously stayed on. An hour later, though, the diamond hitch was still a mystery. Finally Gib said, “Maybe we should go over to the junk pile behind the service station and dig out an old inner tube.”
“And do what?” Jon wanted to know. “Well, maybe if we cut one into a long strip we could tie one end in one cinch ring and stretch it tight over the horse and tie it into the other cinch ring. Kinda like a big rubber band,” Gib explained.
“Are you kiddin’ or what?’ Jon said as he rolled his eyes.
About this time we were at our wit’s end, but still determined, when a friend of mine pulled into the parking and offered to help. “Seen a guy do this once,” Bob McMurray said as he uncoiled a diamond rope. “Shouldn’t be much to it.” “That’s what we thought,” I said somewhat wistfully.
“It ain’t exactly a diamond, but I believe she’ll hold,” Bob said as we examined the conglomeration he had devised. “Think you can remember how I tied this?” he asked.
“I think I got the general drift,” I replied, “but I’m not sure anybody could duplicate it exactly.”
Our horses were saddled and old Bullet packed. That just left Kimberly and one of the great adventures of my lifetime. Kimberly was still in the truck watching the proceedings with a great deal of interest. Gib grabbed lead rope and began coaxing Kimberly out of the truck. He was having none of it. In desperation, Gib finally said. “Let’s loop a long rope around him and put it under his tail. That way we can pull on both ends at the same time and he is sure to come out.”
“Is that a good idea?” Jon R asked somewhat skeptically. “You got a better one?” Gib said as he gave a big heave on his end. Now anybody that has ever seen a green horse with a rope under his tail can guess what happened next. Kimberly came out of the truck all right and finally came to a stop on the far side of the parking lot with Gib, lead rope still in his hand, firmly wedged between the gas pumps.
“At least we got him out of the truck,” Jon R said somewhat slyly handing Gib a beer as he sat picking gravel out of his elbows. “We did that all right and unfortunately I’ve got a feeling that was the easy part,” Gib said, eyeing Kimberly who was now standing tied to the truck, with ears back and a look in his eye that said,” there’s more to come.”
Gib was tough with an indomitable spirit, and getting dragged across the parking lot by a rank horse wasn’t going to change his mind. I knew we were going to pack that sorrel horse and go sheep hunting come ‘Hell or high water’.
http://www.huntingbc.ca/photos/data/500/medium/old_hunting_pics0001.jpg (http://www.huntingbc.ca/photos/showphoto.php?photo=12335&size=big&cat=recent&limit=recent)
By now we were drawing quite a crowd of onlookers, including a tour bus loaded with tourists from California who I’m sure had never seen anything like this performance.
We walked gingerly up to Kimberly, Gib eased the blankets and pack saddle onto his back. The cinch was almost tight when Kimberly blew up, bucking around the parking lot and through the open door of the service station with the three of us in hot pursuit. Catching him we tried again. Same song different verse!
We were about three hours into this adventure when we stopped for a rest. I was leaning up against the truck when the tour bus driver came over and asked, “You got any idea when you are going to get finished?” “Does it look like we have an idea?” I replied somewhat forcefully. “I just wanted to know,” he said meekly “ I’m an hour behind schedule, and my passengers won’t let me leave.
Two hours later we had Kimberly packed. We quickly mounted up and gathered up old Bullet. We left the parking lot heading for Stone Mt with the cheers of the crowd ringing in our ears. Finally after months of planning we were actual sheep hunting.
Things were going well when all of a sudden Kimberly blew up again and starting bucking and scattering stuff across the hillside. Soon old Bullet got caught up in the excitement and we had a real wreck. We finally caught them both and tied them up. Looking around the hillside at two pack horse loads of stuff strewn about I knew we were at the end of our rope for this day. Trying to be cheerful I said, “Why don’t you guys see if you can gather everything up. I’ll start a fire and make something to eat.” “Hell,” Jon groused, “why don’t we just leave the horses tied up and walk over the restaurant have supper, rent a room, have a whiskey, and start over tomorrow.”
The first day of our long awaited pack trip had ended within sight of the truck!
We did, however, finally make it to Stone Mtn and actually got a ram.
.
MOUNTAINS, SHEEP & HORSES
“What are we ever going to do with all this stuff?” I asked my two partners Jon and Gib. “All this stuff” was a mound of pack saddles, blankets, pack boxes; diamond ropes, tents, all in a big pile in my backyard. “How are we ever going to tie all this stuff on the horses?” I asked as my mind replacing the optimism of youth with a touch of reality “Can’t be that hard,” Gib answered back. “We’ll figger it out when we get there.” “There” was Summit Lake Mile 392 on the Alaska Highway and we were going on our first sheep hunt. We were headed for Stone Mt. “But we don’t know anything about packing horses; shouldn’t we have someone show us how?” I asked apprehensively. “Can’t be that much to it”, Gib said which meant it didn’t matter, we were going anyway..
. Our pack string would consist of five horses, three for riding and two for packing. A week before take off we were a horse short.
Gib solved that dilemma by buying a big rawboned sorrel named Kimberley just a few days before we were to leave. The fact that none of us had , any idea how to pack a horse seemed immaterial. We were young, tough, and enthusiastic and we were going sheep hunting!
http://www.huntingbc.ca/photos/data/500/medium/old_hunting_pics0002.jpg (http://www.huntingbc.ca/photos/showphoto.php?photo=12334&size=big&cat=recent&limit=recent)
Our introduction to Kimberly should have been a warning, but when you’re young and inexperienced it’s easy to miss the trail. “Come over and have a look at the horse I just bought,” Gib said over the phone.
An hour later Jon and I pulled into Gib’s driveway and I could see a sorrel horse in the back of Gib’s old two-ton. “Now that’s funny,” I said to Jon, “I wonder why Gib still has that horse in the truck?”
Gib explained. “I couldn’t get him out of the truck last night but if you boys help me, I’m sure we can get him out.”
“Didn’t you say this @@@##### was broke?” I yelled at Gib, the lump on my shin from a back hoof making me less than happy. “I said ‘Green broke’,” Gib replied. “What does that mean?” I demanded. “I guess a guy named Green broke him, I don’t know,” Gib said somewhat heatedly, still pulling on the lead rope.
“He’s been in the truck for five days now,” Jon said as we pulled into the Summit Lake parking lot days later. “He must be ready to come out by now”. We’ll pack Kimberly last,” Gib said, “That way we’ll have old Bullet packed and our horses saddled. Then we can pack Kimberly and head right out and not give him a chance to think about things.”
Saddling the horses turned out to be fairly straight forward. Putting the pack on old Bullet was more challenging. ‘Figgerin’ it out’ wasn’t quite as easy as we had thought it would be. We had no idea how to tie a basket hitch to hold the pack boxes; even less of an idea how to tie it all together with a diamond hitch. No matter! We attacked the problem with vigor and enthusiasm
‘Old Bullet’ was not only old and patient, but gentle as well. For two hours he stood there quietly as we tried various combinations of knots and hitches in frustrated attempts to keep the boxes and top pack tied onto the saddle. Finally we hit on a combination that looked like it would work and the pack miraculously stayed on. An hour later, though, the diamond hitch was still a mystery. Finally Gib said, “Maybe we should go over to the junk pile behind the service station and dig out an old inner tube.”
“And do what?” Jon wanted to know. “Well, maybe if we cut one into a long strip we could tie one end in one cinch ring and stretch it tight over the horse and tie it into the other cinch ring. Kinda like a big rubber band,” Gib explained.
“Are you kiddin’ or what?’ Jon said as he rolled his eyes.
About this time we were at our wit’s end, but still determined, when a friend of mine pulled into the parking and offered to help. “Seen a guy do this once,” Bob McMurray said as he uncoiled a diamond rope. “Shouldn’t be much to it.” “That’s what we thought,” I said somewhat wistfully.
“It ain’t exactly a diamond, but I believe she’ll hold,” Bob said as we examined the conglomeration he had devised. “Think you can remember how I tied this?” he asked.
“I think I got the general drift,” I replied, “but I’m not sure anybody could duplicate it exactly.”
Our horses were saddled and old Bullet packed. That just left Kimberly and one of the great adventures of my lifetime. Kimberly was still in the truck watching the proceedings with a great deal of interest. Gib grabbed lead rope and began coaxing Kimberly out of the truck. He was having none of it. In desperation, Gib finally said. “Let’s loop a long rope around him and put it under his tail. That way we can pull on both ends at the same time and he is sure to come out.”
“Is that a good idea?” Jon R asked somewhat skeptically. “You got a better one?” Gib said as he gave a big heave on his end. Now anybody that has ever seen a green horse with a rope under his tail can guess what happened next. Kimberly came out of the truck all right and finally came to a stop on the far side of the parking lot with Gib, lead rope still in his hand, firmly wedged between the gas pumps.
“At least we got him out of the truck,” Jon R said somewhat slyly handing Gib a beer as he sat picking gravel out of his elbows. “We did that all right and unfortunately I’ve got a feeling that was the easy part,” Gib said, eyeing Kimberly who was now standing tied to the truck, with ears back and a look in his eye that said,” there’s more to come.”
Gib was tough with an indomitable spirit, and getting dragged across the parking lot by a rank horse wasn’t going to change his mind. I knew we were going to pack that sorrel horse and go sheep hunting come ‘Hell or high water’.
http://www.huntingbc.ca/photos/data/500/medium/old_hunting_pics0001.jpg (http://www.huntingbc.ca/photos/showphoto.php?photo=12335&size=big&cat=recent&limit=recent)
By now we were drawing quite a crowd of onlookers, including a tour bus loaded with tourists from California who I’m sure had never seen anything like this performance.
We walked gingerly up to Kimberly, Gib eased the blankets and pack saddle onto his back. The cinch was almost tight when Kimberly blew up, bucking around the parking lot and through the open door of the service station with the three of us in hot pursuit. Catching him we tried again. Same song different verse!
We were about three hours into this adventure when we stopped for a rest. I was leaning up against the truck when the tour bus driver came over and asked, “You got any idea when you are going to get finished?” “Does it look like we have an idea?” I replied somewhat forcefully. “I just wanted to know,” he said meekly “ I’m an hour behind schedule, and my passengers won’t let me leave.
Two hours later we had Kimberly packed. We quickly mounted up and gathered up old Bullet. We left the parking lot heading for Stone Mt with the cheers of the crowd ringing in our ears. Finally after months of planning we were actual sheep hunting.
Things were going well when all of a sudden Kimberly blew up again and starting bucking and scattering stuff across the hillside. Soon old Bullet got caught up in the excitement and we had a real wreck. We finally caught them both and tied them up. Looking around the hillside at two pack horse loads of stuff strewn about I knew we were at the end of our rope for this day. Trying to be cheerful I said, “Why don’t you guys see if you can gather everything up. I’ll start a fire and make something to eat.” “Hell,” Jon groused, “why don’t we just leave the horses tied up and walk over the restaurant have supper, rent a room, have a whiskey, and start over tomorrow.”
The first day of our long awaited pack trip had ended within sight of the truck!
We did, however, finally make it to Stone Mtn and actually got a ram.
.